what are the questions
are they also the answers
i am so very shabby/
in jeopardy
of dematerialization
Tag Archives: Poem
poem for poet: Nayyirah Waheed, Salt
[ The Lethal Salinity of The Truth ]
Her words are not for me
not about me
Her words are not for me
not about me
Repeat
am i allowed
To float Her words aloud
To sink them in my mind
To lap them from the page
i accidentally swallow,
then gulp down Her Salt words/
like when the surf breaks
and surprises an exhilarated, Great Lakes girl
with a mouthful of seawater
during her first swim in the Ocean
Her words were not meant for me
Her words were not meant for me
Repeat
but
they quenched then drowned me anyway
Her Light, her light
it’s mid evening
east of The Lake
and the night is dawning
like a second morning
the Full Moon’s light
in a clearer sky
gleams through the generous panes
of this blessed, old green house
February’s Snow Moon is glowing
in a familiar dance with her beloved Earth/
Sun, their invisible chaperone, is voyeur to their touchless, perfect tango
a family of four deer
mother and children, i think/
are gleaners here tonight
while i consume their Moon play
silent and sitting in the dark, i admire:
coat, tallow, hooves and hot, flow of blood
is all that’s between them
and this howling wind and frozen ground
let me mimic their resilience, integrity
i’ve been so weak, so broken this winter
a fractioned shadow, i am disintegrating, disappearing / my light given or grifted away
Wolf Lake
“This used to be my playground”
and our proxy for church on spring, summer and fall sabbaths
These were the halcyon days.
Load up the International Harvester TravelAll with wooden doors and quarter panels – it has two gas tanks, you know
Bought it used, but pristine
on payments – from the showroom on Logan Boulevard and Elston Avenue with zero credit history and all the usury
Have mercy.
Follow me, and I will make you fishers of fish
He will bait your hook on the bamboo pole he bought you
Later, you will insist on the “Pocket Fisherman” – as seen on TV
the bearable light of being
we adapt, mitigate
beholding devastation
in a moment of transcendent light
we’ll call it beauty
i am no exception
thaw
i add my most intentional breaths to the land, to the atmosphere,
for the birch saplings, for a man i knew,
bent over
frozen
in a forced deference
mimicking reverence
won’t, can’t hold
[it never does]
human calculus
there is no math
more racking and wrenching than
human calculus
to find oneself
not as integer or integral
as both function and derivative
yet not a real variable
as undifferentiated
only momentarily tangential
eternally infinitesimal
telemarketer
she answers every unknown call
thinking it might be him
on a burner phone
calling to say
calling to tell
calling to ask
calling to weep
calling to laugh
calling to breathe
you
yes
wait
soon
now
everything
anything
‘this’
we were not that singular, after all
in spite of all evidence and words
to the contrary
we began and ended
like everyone, everything, anything else
sure.
but
this, i know
we never grew boring
we never stopped loving
we never stopped wanting
then
still
you vanished
so
what does this all mean now
what does anything mean now
what can anything mean now
what is the meaning of meaning now
this, i don’t know
explanation
she was never really glad to be here
here, as in, born
not really, no
still,
she paced herself
bided, abided the days which turned into decades
in the city
she moved out of the city
she moved out to the country
she paced her herself
bided, abided the days which turned into months and years
in the country
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
until she could not
one more
anymore
intruder
let them know she was killed
in a struggle with an intruder in a house
then let them know she was the intruder
then let them know she was the house
undo
i sometimes wake myself speaking to you aloud from my dreams
the Lake carries my voice
in one direction, west, at night;
if i’m being truthful,
in sunlight too
do you hear me in your sleep,
or when awake, in your perfect nest, your perfect, structural roost
no rest then, no rest now,
be or do,
do won out
i found /no, fought/ for my contentment
then lost /no, loved/ it away;
if i am being truthful,
it was too easy
i want to get back to when the tolerance of crows was all that mattered to me; when meadow and sky were enough to hold my singular, regent attention
and forget /no, ignore/ the attentions of men who unbecome and rebecome strangers
Poemo (prototypes) :
The secret ambition of all lyric poetry is to stop time. — Charles Simic
the velveteen poet 